Meeting You
by Wishing-for-a-Wand
Summary: Effie Trinket had never before met the reputedly stubborn District 12 mentor. She made the wise decision to arrive at his home before the Reaping, an entire day early. Sixteen years later and they're meeting that same way.
1. Prologue

Welcome to this story! It will be a multi-chaptered fic about the evolution of Haymitch and Effie's complex friendship over the years. It's rated T purely because it deals with the Hunger Games and their mature content. Enjoy.

* * *

Prologue:

Effie Trinket smiled broadly as she shook President Snow's hand. "Congratulations," the president's smooth voice flattered her, "on your promotion."

The young woman nodded excitedly, sending her head of pink curls bobbing down around her ears. "Thank you, sir," she gushed, "I very much look forward to it."

The president returned her smile and inclined his head in approval of her enthusiasm. "Official District Escort. It's an impressive title, even when applied to District 12."

"With all due respect, sir," Effie said, her smile growing just the faintest bit sharp, "I don't believe I'll be in 12 long." The president raised one white eyebrow, but did not look terribly offended by her answer. He looked amused.

Effie hoped she'd do more than amuse. She wanted to impress, even if her blossoming career began in the less than glamorous District 12.

Snow let loose a deep chuckle. "You'll do just fine. Though 12's victor has a reputation for being difficult."

The newly appointed escort smiled confidently. "I don't think we'll have a problem. We are, after all, working to the same end."

The president smiled, but a look passed through his eyes that Effie could not give a name to. "All the same, Miss Trinket, I wish you the very best of luck."


	2. The Sixty-First Hunger Games

*~* The Sixty-First Hunger Games

Effie floated about the train making preparations for the next few days and weeks. The reaping was tomorrow, and while she'd observed the procedure a hundred time in all twelve districts, this was her first time conducting the ceremony herself. Everything had to be perfect.

She'd come to 12 a day early in order to ensure that. She'd also come to meet her new partner, District 12's only victor, Haymitch Abernathy.

 _"_ _Haymitch Abernathy is easily the most cantankerous victor around. Twenty-seven years old and no self respect. You_ _'_ _ll have your hands full with him, Miss Trinket. He won_ _'_ _t make it easy for you._ _"_

Effie remembered the conversation she'd had with her predecessor even before she'd taken the job. Her forerunner had been a formidable woman, but Abernathy had driven her into an early retirement. Still, Effie wasn't about to be intimidated. She was determined to make a solid first impression and then move up and away from rundown District 12.

She was prepared. Effie had observed Hunger Games etiquette all her life, and had known from an early age that she was destined for the fabulously successful life of Official District Escort. She knew just how things should work, and she had a real knack for making sure they did.

She was prepared in regard to her new partner as well. Effie had made a point of studying Abernathy's Games, interviews, and tours to see what sort of man she'd be working alongside.

He'd won the Hunger Games just over a decade ago, and Effie could remember witnessing his victory firsthand. She'd been young, not quite a teenager herself, and he'd been a strong sixteen year old from the coal mining district.

Effie studied the file that she held, browsing again through information on Haymitch Abernathy, information that she could now spout by heart. He had been a solid, immovable presence in his time at the Capitol. His interviews and his speeches from the following year's tour showed a determined and stubborn individual. They also showed extreme arrogance.

He was resourceful and had a high pain tolerance. She'd learned that from the Games themselves. Abernathy was intelligent, and when he wanted to, he could work a crowd. Eleven years ago, he had been a handsome young man, rugged from a harsh life, but still attractive and mysterious. These were two qualities that he'd used in his favor. He'd known how to joke, though his interviews had always possessed an air of bitterness.

While all of this was apparent to Effie from observing his Games, she wondered how much of it was still true. She'd seen plenty of victors unable to cope with the sudden reward they'd earned. The lifestyle change was too much for some of them. They had, after all, been born into a different world. Each managed their victory in their own way.

Effie was not naive enough to think that Abernathy was the sort of victor who could blend straight into Capitol society. He'd had that option for the last eleven years, but had failed to integrate or even cooperate. But, Effie knew, it was all about appearances. If she could give Panem a presentable District 12 victor, the rest would follow. Maybe if she could manage that, she could even repair the District's depressing reputation, something Abernathy had done nothing but add to.

The speeding train came to a whistling stop at the District 12 platform. Effie let off a short sigh accompanied by a nod of her pink curled head. She was ready for this. Gathering her files and pausing in front of a mirror to touch up her makeup, she was soon ready to depart.

Effie Trinket, Official District 12 Escort, stepped onto the train platform and into her new workplace for the first time. The sky was overcast, and the dilapidated station covered in coal dust was just a precursor to the rest of the of the district.

It was hardly the sort of setting that should hold someone as wildly successful as she planned to be, but if this was where her journey to fame must begin, so be it. Effie glanced around the deserted platform. She was a day early, but even so, there should have been people around, if not a welcome committee than at least a curious passerby.

A bit miffed by the lack of proper greeting, Effie stood, unsure of her next steps. She'd hoped for an escort, or at least some directions, to the Victor's Village, but it would seem that she'd have to find her own way.

Her high heels clacked comfortingly as she crossed the neglected platform, until her left shoe became embedded in a fissure in the wood surface. Effie nearly pitched forward in a graceless meeting of stage and face, but managed to arrest her momentum and haul out her shoe.

A faint giggle caught her attention, and turning, she saw a young girl watching her with amusement. Effie graced the child with her most encouraging smile. Ah, the welcome committee at last. "Why, hello there!" Effie exclaimed in her most personable manner. "I don't suppose you could give me a bit of help, could you?"

Effie carefully picked her way to the edge of the platform and stood beside the little girl. "I'm looking for the Victor's Village," she said, giving the name all of the glorious applause it deserved. "Could you take me there?"

The child still looked reluctant, but with a sweeping glance over Effie's magnificent clothing and encouraging smile, she nodded and turned to walk ahead of the visiting Escort.

"I've never been to District 12 before," Effie said in an attempt to make conversation. Finding nothing positive or complimentary to say about her first glimpse of the district, Effie wisely trailed off, leaving them to trek in silence.

It was quite the hike to the Victor's Village, and Effie experienced several more incidents between her towering heels and the uneven road. The girl remained silent until they'd passed under the iron wrought sign naming the square the home of District 12's champions. Or champion, as the case was.

"This is it," the child confirmed, as Effie took an encompassing look around her. This was not the District 12 that she'd caught a glimpse of from the platform. Eleven identically pristine houses sat on carefully manicured lawns of green. The twelfth house, the one directly across from the Village's gate, was in a more primitive state. The lawn was still perfectly combed, but instead of standing patiently empty, it radiated an air of reluctantly caged.

Effie nodded, carefully masking any disappointment or apprehension she felt on seeing Abernathy's home. The curtains were drawn tightly on each of the visible windows, and nothing looked to be stirring within, though it was nearly ten in the morning. "It doesn't look as though Mr. Abernathy is at home," she said with careful cheerfulness. "Perhaps he's back in town."

This was a disappointing prospect in itself. Effie was in no mood to repeat her hike back to the District's square. To both her relief and her chagrin, the child shook her head. "No, he's most likely at home."

"I see," Effie intoned. Then it was high time she introduced herself. Turning back to the girl who'd helped her, she presented her most winning smile. "Thank you ever so much! I would certainly have been lost without you."

The child gave a slight incline of her head and then scampered back down the path they'd entered on. Effie Trinket squared her shoulders, took a deep breath of what she was now recognizing as very stale air, and approached Haymitch Abernathy's house in the Victor's Village.

The house was even more unwelcoming up close, and the stench was certainly uninviting. Not to be put off by any of these factors, Effie raised a delicately gloved hand and rapped it against the front door.

She moved back a step and pulled straight the front of her elegantly cut blouse. Raising her head, she pasted on her most captivating smile in anticipation of the door's opening.

But nothing happened. The door remained stubbornly closed, and Effie began to feel foolish. Surely there was no way he could have missed her knock. Effie waited another moment, giving Abernathy every chance to respond in proper timing, but the abandoned Village remained silent.

Put out by the impropriety of the entire affair, Effie raised a fist and pounded forcibly on the closed door. She listened closely for any sound of life from within, but the silence only frustrated her more. Losing any semblance of patience and doubting entirely that the victor was even home at all, Effie continued in her relentless abuse of the door. There was no way he could ignore the racket she was causing.

When the door was pulled brusquely open, Effie very nearly toppled through it. She was caught by the protruding doorframe and one strong, masculine hand. Recovering her balance and her dignity, Effie straightened to greet her new partner, and was almost floored by the smell.

The stench of liquor, sweat, and vomit was overwhelming, as it poured from the house and the man in front of her. Her eyes stung with the sudden odor; it seemed to have been accumulating the last eleven years he'd occupied the house.

"Mr. Abernathy," Effie managed to choke out. She regained enough control of her senses to give him a cursory look. He stood taller than she, even with her impressively stylish heels, and she was eye level with any number of mysterious stains on his filthy undershirt. His hair was tousled and mussed, suggesting that he had recently awoken. This would at least partially explain why he'd neglected attending to the door.

The other explanation was in the smell. Haymitch Abernathy had clearly been consuming unreal amounts of alcohol. It was likely he still hadn't realized he had a visitor. In spite of this obvious handicap, Abernathy seemed surprisingly alert, leading Effie to believe this overindulgence was something he engaged regularly in.

It was then she noticed that he carried a weighty knife gripped tightly in his right hand. She wondered fleetingly if this was a customary greeting in backward District 12, but chalked it up with the other eccentricities she'd heard about this particular victor. All the same, it was lucky he'd caught her with his other hand.

Effie was acutely aware that even as she examined him, Abernathy carefully scrutinized her. Their eyes met, her twinkling blue with his smoky gray, then he cleared his throat, leaned back into his house, spit on the carpet, and spoke:

"You're in the right place, darlin'."

Utterly revolted by his actions, surprised by his words, and insulted by his address, Effie struggled to find an appropriate reply. "I am Effie Trinket, District 12's new escort." She stuck out her gloved hand, expecting an introductory shake, before withdrawing it as she considered the likelihood that this institution should be observed and the irremovable stains that should occur if it was.

Abernathy chuckled brusquely at her, an action unfamiliar to Effie and immediately offensive. "Bit early, aren't you?" he asked as he turned and reentered his house, leaving the door open wide and a perplexed escort just outside it.

Refusing to be put off by what was surely an attempt to disarm her, Effie gasped at whatever clean air remained outside and followed him in, widely skirting the area he had spat upon.

By the looks of the entryway and kitchen, the entire house was a complete wreck, the clutter of such magnitude that he must have been constructing it for the last decade. The majority of the carnage consisted of empty liquor bottles. _A chronic drunk_ , Effie thought disdainfully. _That won_ _'_ _t do at all_. "A day early, yes," she confirmed. "I thought it would be best if we were introduced without the added pressure of a camera."

Effie silently congratulated herself on her foresight. This commencement of their partnership was embarrassing enough without all of Panem seeing it. She had narrowly escaped national humiliation, something that would not bode well with her hopes of promotion.

This too, drew a slight chuckle from Abernathy. He paused by the kitchen table, set down his knife, and picked up a bottle. He waved his arms in an overly theatrical display that nearly sent him sprawling. "Make yourself at home," he slurred, before taking a deep swig.

The new escort was not amused by his mocking invitation. "I take it my early arrival is something of a surprise to you, Mr. Abernathy?"

"Haymitch," he corrected her smoothly, taking another long pull on his bottle.

When he said nothing else, Effie pressed the conversation. "No doubt tomorrow you'd be better prepared to accept a guest." The remark was one last effort to gauge his habits.

Haymitch offered up a smile that had the potential to be charming. As it was, surrounded by filth and grime and utterly unrepentant, it did nothing but infuriate her. "No doubt."

Loath to be ignored or bested by this District 12 drunkard, Effie swept clean a seat at his kitchen table, winced internally at the resulting crash, but steely settled herself across from him. "Tell me then, Mr. Abernathy, what are your usual preparations for tomorrow's reaping?"

She felt a small ripple of satisfaction at his raised eyebrow as he observed her sitting in his kitchen. She was still holding her breath against the smell, and she'd mourn for this particular outfit later, but for now she had his attention.

He lowered himself into a chair opposite her and defiantly propped booted feet up on the table. If there was one thing Effie couldn't stand it was bad manners. She'd managed to ignore the improper greeting, the general rudeness, and even the spitting on the carpet. She'd given him his first chance, but if they were to work together, this was not how it would go. "Is that really necessary?" she asked, allowing just a hint of her frustration to seep into her voice. "Manners matter. You won't impress anyone by pretending they don't."

"Why? They got cameras here, too?" It was said in what she'd come to suspect was his normal tone, one of bitter defiance and hostile mockery. His feet remained firmly planted on the table top. "You asked what I do to prepare for the reaping." He lifted his liquor bottle into the air and slammed it down with more force than he'd intended. "Step One is I finish this bottle."

Effie rolled her eyes as he proceeded to attempt just that. He paused in his drinking and said, "And it's Haymitch. I don't know this Mr. Abernathy."

"My apologies," she intoned, believing his words. Haymitch wasn't the sort for formality. _That_ she could see right off. "Any _other_ steps of preparation?"

Haymitch grinned smugly at her. "Step Two: Repeat step one as needed."

She didn't bother keeping her disgust out of her next words. "What a unique response. Then you do nothing else to ready yourself for Reaping Day?"

He squinted accusingly up at her. "You some sort of interviewer?"

"No," Effie huffed, insulted. "I am District 12's new escort. I'm your new partner."

It took her a moment to register his laughter. There'd been an instant of silence, and then a hoarse laugh had welled up from inside the man in front of her. His laughter bore no trace of hilarity, but was riddled with derision.

"I beg your pardon!" Effie said loudly to silence him.

"Don't bother," he told her harshly, the laughter gone as rapidly as it had appeared. "But let's not lie to each other. We're not partners in anything."

This too, managed to surprise her. She'd known Abernathy was a difficult victor. Disrespectful. Belligerent. Potentially unstable, even. Still, she realized that she'd expected him to accept her help.

When she could think of nothing to say, he continued. "What happened to the old escort?"

"She decided to retire," Effie said obligingly, giving him only a simple explanation. Judging by his expression, he knew anyway.

Haymitch took another gulp of alcohol. "And you're here to pick up the pieces. Take the job no one else wants." His gray eyes flashed. "You don't want to stay here, and you don't want to be anything so close to me as a partner."

They found themselves staring at each other, him angry and her shocked. He spoke with such candor and conviction, and there was little that she could argue with. Wasn't it true that she didn't want to stay in rustic District 12? Hadn't she told the president himself that she would be gone in a year or two? Effie didn't want to stay in this backwater world, and she could think of nothing quite so uncomfortable as being partnered with Haymitch Abernathy.

But she had come to do her job. She was an Official District Escort. She was Effie Trinket, and she didn't give up so easily. That was how she'd worked her way up to this position, and that was how she'd work her way through it.

Effie took a deep breath, and found herself saying words she hadn't planned on when reading Haymitch Abernathy's file on the ride into 12. "You're right."

She could see the confusion burst to life just behind his eyes. "I don't have plans to stay here. I'm planning on getting out. But I do that by doing my job, and my job is to help you do yours. So we _are_ partners, because it is our job to bring another victor out alive. And I _am_ your partner, because I plan on helping you do it."

Haymitch remained silent long after she'd finished. What was there to say, really? Effie didn't expect him to agree with her. All he did was drink deeply from his bottle. She stood and straightened her styled pink wig.

"I'll be in the train then," she said briskly. Looking over the litter of empty and broken bottles, Effie said pointedly, "I'll be seeing you tomorrow afternoon. Will you be on time, or shall I send someone for you?" If Haymitch carried out his two step preparation program, he was likely to miss the entire ceremony, and that would not do at all. Having the one surviving victor fail to attend would not give her the perfect first performance she was intending.

He met her eyes again and gave a smile that was half scowl. "I'm sure I'll find my way into attendance." She'd be sending someone for him for sure.

When he didn't stand or move to show her out, Effie bit back another retort about bad manners. It was still only their first meeting. He'd hear about it plenty on their way to the Capitol. "I'm glad we had this meeting without the cameras," was the only truthful farewell she could offer. "Tomorrow, Mr. - " she caught herself, "Haymitch, is sure to be a big, big, big day."


	3. The Sixty-Second Hunger Games

*~* The Sixty-Second Hunger Games

Effie sat happily aboard the zooming luxury train on her way out to District 12. She sipped a cool beverage and meandered through her various files. This year she was prepared.

The year before, she had done her part well. A sunny smile had accompanied her on stage, her manners had been sublime as she called out, "Ladies first!" and she'd done her job with gracious poise. It had been near perfection, until after the male tribute was called and Haymitch vomited all over the stage.

The thought of her partner creased her forehead and drew down her mouth in an aggravated scowl. She could practically smell the alcohol fumes. No, last year had not been perfect, and Effie knew just who to blame.

Apart from the disastrous reaping, they had spent little time together, something Effie was grateful for. The train ride had been frustrating as she spoke to the tributes of magnificent buildings, clothes, and food, and Haymitch raided the liquor cabinet.

She'd genuinely doubted if he would attempt sobriety, but he'd surprised her and offered his help to the children it was his duty to mentor. Effie had ushered them to all of their various appointments and interviews, keeping as sharp an eye on Haymitch as on her tributes. They'd never once been late.

When the Games began, Effie had spent the days watching them with friends around the city. She and the other Escorts often viewed them together. Unless they had a victor, their job was over.

But there was no victor from District 12. The children she'd brought died in the arena. The girl, a pretty seventeen year old, was what Haymitch called a town kid. She'd fled from the bloodbath, as she was ill equipped to start with a fight, but she'd received a spear in her back. By the time the initial fight was over, the was a cannon blast for her.

It was especially unfortunate because she'd scored well in training and her beauty would have afforded her several sponsors. If only she'd lived to make use of them.

District 12's male tribute was only slightly luckier. He'd lasted two days before being caught in a net placed by a District 4 tribute. He'd called for help, but he had no allies and no one in the arena who would save him. It was a heavy blow with a sword that ended his misery.

Effie was disappointed, of course. It really would have been something to bring home a victor her first year on the job, but she was not done yet. She was prepared this year, even for Haymitch Abernathy. She was so confident of this fact, that she'd arrived, once again, a day early.

The train listed to a stop, and Effie gathered her files to depart. She adjusted her new wig, the exact color of new spring grass. At least that's what the salesperson had told her. Either way, it was perfectly in style and Effie was very pleased with her resulting look.

With clipboard in hand, she strode off the train and onto the platform. The sun was merciless and the heat was persecuting. The child she'd encountered last year was nowhere in sight, but Effie knew where the Victor's Village was. She simply wasn't looking forward to the hike.

Half an hour later, perspiring more than she ever had in her life, Effie at last reached the Village gate. It certainly wasn't convenient to come calling a day early, but she wanted to see that her partner was roused and ready. She prayed that she'd find him sober.

Effie marched through the empty Village and up to Haymitch's house. She pulled off one of her satin gloves and knocked solidly on the door. Just as it had a year ago, silence reigned. Effie let out a sound of exasperation. She'd had it with that man.

She was about to knock again, when the door opened. Haymitch Abernathy, District 12's sole victor stood in front of her. Effie scanned him quickly, taking note of the disheveled hair, soiled clothes, and overpowering smell. Leave him alone for a year and he quickly fell into old habits.

Folding her arms and giving him a reproving look, she glanced at the bottle grasped possessively in his hand. He was, at least, without a visible knife. "Still carrying out your two step preparation program, I see," she observed satirically.

Light trickled into his gray eyes as he placed her in alcohol hazed memories. "Did you expect someone else?" he asked. "I think you're still early."

He sauntered away from the door, leaving it open so that she might follow if she wished. His home was in just as great a state of disarray as before. Effie sniffed disdainfully, but followed him inside, shutting the door against prying eyes that weren't there.

"Still early," she confirmed. "I thought we should give ourselves the chance to talk before the festivities take over." His derisive snort was insulting, but with an effort, she ignored him.

Haymitch led the way to the kitchen, the room he seemed to frequent most. Effie spotted his knife handy on the table. "What, exactly, did you figure we'd have to talk about?"

Effie allowed herself a look around the crowded kitchen. The amounts of broken furniture had increased since last year, but she wasn't truly surprised. She already knew the man didn't pick up after himself.

"I had thought it would be prudent to discuss our strategy for this Game." She turned back to her host to find him at the end of a bottle. "Haymitch! I hardly think you can afford to miss this conversation."

The District 12 victor drained the bottle before responding. "You know how my strategy goes."

Effie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I think we can all see how effective a strategy your alcoholism is." She paced carefully around his kitchen, heedful of the mess and how the shattered glass could ruin her new shoes. "We were not successful last year. So what do we need to do differently?"

She felt a slight pang of sadness as she recalled the faces of the two young tributes who hadn't followed them home, but she shrugged it off. It was a game, and they always had another chance.

Haymitch was eyeing her closely, and she had the distinct impression that those gray eyes could see through anything. Finally, he sat down at his table, uncorked another round of liquor, and sat quietly a moment. "There's not much I can do differently."

Surprised and a little confused by this admission, Effie cocked her head in his direction. Conscious of her tipping wig, she quickly righted herself, but remained perplexed. "You don't think there is anything to change about all of this?" she asked, indicating the disaster that encompassed his house.

Now her partner was glaring at her. "It's _my_ house," he said stubbornly. "And it's got nothing to do with whether we're 'successful' or not."

"You can't really believe that," Effie goaded. "Appearances are everything in the world of the Games. And _you_ don't make a good first impression."

"Good thing I've been doing this long enough not to need one," he shot back.

Trying to control her rising anger, Effie pasted on a smile. "We must maintain appearances. Your appearance could very well dictate which sponsors you're able to get."

Haymitch leaned forward, all intensity, his opened bottle held forgotten in his hand. "Are you trying to give me a fashion lesson, Effie?" he drawled, unimpressed.

Nor was Effie impressed. He simply didn't understand. Couldn't, coming from District 12. "No, I am trying to impress upon you the importance of being presentable. You can tell a lot about a person by how they present themselves."

A hint of a smile appeared on Haymitch's face, a look Effie knew to be wary of. "So what does your presentation say about you?"

Fully aware that she was walking into a trap, Effie answered slowly and carefully. "My presentation says that I am poised," she began only to be interrupted.

"Self-absorbed," Haymitch corrected.

"Professional."

"Clueless," he countered. The smile continued to twist his lips upward. "That's what your presentation says."

Effie knew better than to be offended. Haymitch was full of rude and cutting remarks. Still, his words stung at a place she didn't think she could be hurt. Effie understood fashion. She understood presentation. She chose her image carefully. And she refused to be hurt by Haymitch Abernathy.

She returned his smile and his words. "And what does your presentation say about you?" Effie circled the table and the seated victor, taking in his ragged appearance and stained clothing. "It says that you are irresponsible."

"Self-absorbed," Haymitch corrected, the smile still hovering around his lips.

"Unscrupulous."

"Aware."

That was his opinion then. That the two of them were more alike than they'd ever know, each completely wrapped up in their worlds without a care for another human being. The difference, he said, was in what world they knew. Well, she might not know his world, but he certainly did not know hers.

The two of them observed the other a moment, false smiles fading to be replaced by genuine looks of consideration. Eventually, it was Effie who broke through the contemplative silence. "It seems we have very different ideas about presentation, but the Capitol sides with me. And it's their opinion that matters in this case."

This statement drove Haymitch to finally take a swig from his open bottle. "You want me to play the part of trained monkey?" he sneered.

Effie gave him a stern look that was meant to silence him, but ultimately failed. "I want you to look respectable."

"Like you."

"Like the Capitol wants!" she snapped. He really was the most infuriating man she'd ever encountered. At first, she'd blamed it on his less than proper upbringing, but there was something truly rankling and unlikable about him that had little to do with where he'd been raised.

Haymitch was drinking again full force. Whatever preoccupation had caused the lull had passed, and he seemed bent on intoxicating himself further. "Well," he drawled, "I've never been good at doing what the Capitol wants."

Truer words were never spoken. Effie doubted that he knew the full extent of his reputation in the Capitol. He was known to every escort in the field. They had laughed at his antics and failings for the last twelve years. Each one was relieved he wasn't their responsibility. Once Effie had been able to laugh with the rest of the population. Now he _was_ her problem.

"I'm well aware of that," she told him, "But can you allow me to present you as a competent mentor?"

With another drink, Haymitch stared out the window. Effie rather doubted that his glazed eyes were seeing anything. At least, anything that was really there. Suddenly, his head snapped towards her, and his gray eyes were burning holes into hers. "You think that will help those kids?"

Again, it wasn't the reaction she would have expected. Like it or not, he had a way of surprising her. Effie had anticipated a continuation of their argument, another protest at her idea, a string of profanity cursing her presence in his life. Instead, he asked about the children.

His meaning was plain. If she could guarantee that his appearance would in any way help the children he mentored, Haymitch would consider what she asked. He wouldn't like it. He wouldn't do it quietly or without grumbling and drinking. But he might try.

"Yes," she said simply. "I think it could help them." And he must know that, too. He'd spent enough time in the Capitol to know what they valued.

"Fine," he said, upending the bottle. "But only when we're in the Capitol," he elucidated, wagging an admonishing finger in her direction. "And only because it might help."

Effie nodded, accepting his terms. It would have been impossible to transform Haymitch Abernathy year round. She'd be grateful and impressed to manage a few weeks in the Capitol. She'd also have her work cut out for her.

"I'll take what I can get," Effie informed him. "Only in the Capitol, and only for them." She looked at him with newfound curiosity. Then she felt her eyebrows constrict as she warned him. "Do not undermine my efforts. At least not in public."

Haymitch grinned smugly up at her. "I can make no promises," he laughed. And it was almost a real laugh, something she'd never heard from him. He had mastered the sarcastic guffaw and the mocking chuckle, but laughter was a foreign sound from him.

So maybe she didn't yet know everything about him. Effie watched as Haymitch took another long swig of alcohol. She gave him a disapproving look. "I don't suppose there's any chance that bottle might disappear?"

Her partner's expression flickered through several emotions. First all trace of laughter dissolved and his eyes hardened, daring her to try it. Then deciding that she was joking, his amusement returned. "Not a chance, darlin'."


	4. The Sixty-Third Hunger Games

*~* The Sixty-Third Hunger Games

The tribute train sped silently across the country. Effie sat on a cushioned settee, not bothering to glance out the window. There was nothing to see. The only grandeur for miles was all within the luxury train.

Effie's attention was on the large wall screen flashing recaps of last year's Games. It was normal policy to remind the public of the previous year's excitement. And, she suspected, to remind the mentors of their successes and failures. Before remembering that he never turned on his television, she hope Haymitch wasn't watching. He needed no such reminders.

Last year had been better. She'd managed to threaten her partner into clothes both professional and appropriate, and he had striven to maintain appearances for the cameras. He'd not been asked to an interview, but he would have been prepared if the opportunity had arisen. She would have been prepared.

But their tributes had not survived long enough to warrant an interview with their mentor. There were fourteen and sixteen, and she'd had real hope for them. Of course, that was her job: to hope.

Still, all the hoping in the world could not have saved even one. The boy tribute was sixteen years old and according to Haymitch, a Seam kid. Effie had little idea what this meant, but judging by the strong resemblance between the two, she could guess that Haymitch was once a Seam kid, too. Each had piercing gray eyes filled with defiance, and they'd matched wits as soon as they'd boarded the train, leaving her with no doubt that they were very much the same.

She'd hoped that this boy could make it. He was intelligent enough and strong. He was also ridiculously stubborn and scandalously rude, and it was these latter traits that put her in mind of her partner. But Haymitch had won once. Perhaps this boy, with his similar looks and attitude could also come out a victor.

Then the Games had started, and the boy she hoped for sprinted out into the fray. Though Effie was surrounded by fellow escorts, she could practically hear Haymitch cursing. And she'd known that no matter what his strength or speed, the boy from 12 would not outlast the bloodbath.

And that was the difference between this boy and Haymitch. Each was a fighter. Effie'd certainly heard plenty of arguments to prove that. But Haymitch was a survivor.

The boy was mortally wounded, and when he wandered off and collapsed he glared up at a hidden camera. As the cannon sounded, his glare refused to fade, and Effie felt his last angry look etch itself into her memory. She'd never be able to erase his final expression of disappointment and hatred. No matter how much she might want to.

The girl from 12, small and slight at fourteen, escaped the first day without so much as a scratch. She also fled the cornucopia without any sort of helpful material. A tent, some food or matches might have given her a chance, but she had nothing to help her.

That night the Gamemakers sent snow, and the small girl huddled under a thorn bush, shivering. Effie was nearly as excited as she to see a parachute float down to the freezing child. The young girl opened the parachute and found a total of three precious matches waiting inside. Effie wasn't sure what Haymitch had done to scrape up the funds for even that small gift, but it might have made the difference between the child's life and death.

The girl managed to build herself a fire and keep from freezing to death, but while she tried to conceal the flame, she was spotted. A pack of Careers came upon her, and before she could run, she was dead.

Both tributes dead in the first twelve hours. District 12 made two appearances in the sky that night, and Effie found it difficult to watch the rest of the Games, knowing that the two children she'd meant to save would never be coming home. She'd checked in on Haymitch a few times in the next weeks he was required to stay. He'd grabbed a bottle and given up any pretense of keeping up appearances as soon as the second cannon had sounded. And she almost found it hard to blame him.

These morbid thoughts were cut short as the train slid smoothly into the station. Effie patted down her glistening outfit and complimenting lavender hair. Appearances did matter, even out here in District 12.

She stepped confidently onto the empty platform, marveling again at the strange silence of the station, so very different from the Capitol's constant buzz of traffic both mechanical and human. It was a comfortable summer day, not at all like last year's oppressive heat. Effie sighed at the now familiar prospect of a long hike out to the Victor's Village and started off.

The distance was just as long as she remembered. She vowed to next year wear slightly more practical shoes. Effie approached Haymitch's house, prepared for their now annual day early meeting. She wasn't sure if he'd learned to expect her or not.

As she strolled through the empty Victor's Village, Effie realized that the smell was becoming less noticeable. More likely that she was growing used to it.

Effie straightened her wig. It would not do to preach about appearances and then be negligent. She rapped only once on the door, and was surprised to have it open. Haymitch Abernathy stood before her, as pungent and filthy as he always was on these meetings.

"I figured it was you," he told her, blinking those piercing eyes.

District 12's Escort followed him into the repugnant house. "I take it you don't have many visitors," she observed wryly.

Though he'd been without a liquor bottle when he answered the door, Haymitch soon picked one up. It looked as though no amount of changes in his appearance would alter his two step program. He needed alcohol to make it through reaping day.

Haymitch found a seat at his kitchen table, and Effie wondered casually at the fact that it was the only room of his home she'd seen. "Come to give me another lesson in manners?" he asked, actually gesturing to the chair beside him.

"I thought today we had better discuss strategy," Effie remarked, carefully weighing the idea of taking a seat. Eventually, she decided in favor of sitting, lamenting the loss of this outfit. "There are a few points that we're going to need to rethink."

He glowered at her. "You think so?"

Aware of his sudden animosity, Effie nodded. "I'm not suggesting we remove your two step program, but we need to change things in regard to preparing our tributes."

"You mean, I need to change."

"Exactly," Effie smiled. His scowl told her she'd said the wrong thing. "Don't look at me that way. I'm only trying to help."

Her partner was clearly unconvinced. "I bet you are," he sneered. Haymitch drank deeply from his bottle. "I see nothing wrong with the same approach as last year."

Effie could scarcely keep from rolling her eyes. "Same approach as last year? You mean the approach where you alternate between terrifying the tributes and ignoring them? It's not working, Haymitch."

"I tell them the truth," he argued. "And I give them as much help as they want."

She could tell that he believed that, but his honest approach lacked finesse. She'd seen how it angered the tributes, or worse, depressed them. "It's not working," she repeated.

Haymitch glared. "I'm not lying to them."

"That is not what I'm suggesting," Effie protested, "Simply that your approach requires refinement."

He raised an eyebrow. "Refinement?"

"So that they don't want to kill themselves!" Effie said angrily. Perhaps that was a bit drastic, but she could see what his words did to their tributes. His cutting refusals and bitter candor wounded them before they entered the arena, sometimes beyond repair.

Effie could tell that her words had finally reached him. Maybe they'd even hurt him. He gazed sullenly down the neck of his liquor bottle, searching for answers that hadn't ever been there. Haymitch was quiet for several long moments, silently seething with fury and frustration.

When he spoke, he didn't try to conceal his anger. His voice was low and menacing. "I guess I don't know how to sugarcoat the fact that every one of them is going to die. It's not part of my job."

"No," Effie agreed. "But it's my job to be optimistic. To motivate them and give our tributes a bit of hope."

Haymitch chuckled insolently. "Is that what you're doing?"

She ignored him, refusing to rise to his bait. Sometimes she could swear he enjoyed fighting with her. "You have to give them something to live for, Haymitch. Or remind them of something they already have. That is how you get victors."

He looked stubbornly unconvinced. Effie sighed heavily. "What was your motivation?"

District 12's victor met her gaze solidly. His sneer was gone, and the emotion in his gray eyes was difficult to read, but it was genuine. He looked suddenly exhausted. "I was needed," he said simply.

Effie was again astonished by his answer. Perhaps it was because his current state made it difficult to imagine who could have relied on him. And where were they now? The Escort eventually found her voice. "Yes! Motivation like that exactly. If we give them the proper encouragement, they stand a better chance of winning."

"They don't stand a chance of winning."

Now it was her turn to scowl. "Stop saying that! It can be done." She mulled over the victories she'd seen over the years. District 1 alone had claimed victories the last two years. A brother and sister pair had just won back to back Games. "If the other Districts can do it..."

Haymitch jumped in before she could finish. "We're not the other Districts. We're not District 1, Effie, we don't have any sibling champions."

"What do we have?" she asked, exasperated.

Her partner ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "None of the advantages that they do." He leaned forward, and she could smell the alcohol coming off his breath. "We aren't trained from a young age like they are."

"Training is illegal," Effie said superiorly, knowing already that he'd contradict her.

True to form, Haymitch was shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. You think they learn to wield a sword with that deadly precision in a week? Our kids can't compete with that."

"There are other ways to win."

"But none that work for us. We don't have the experience that they do, and they're not starving to death even before they reach the arena. They have the advantages in skill and physical condition." As he spoke, Haymitch ticked the reasons off on his fingers, leaving him with a full hand and an obviously empty heart.

Effie sat stiffly across from him, knowing that much of what he said was true. "Anything else?"

He tipped up his bottle. "Yes. Few of our kids are capable of becoming murderers."

Murderers? "Winning the Games is about survival," Effie said carefully, doing her best not to conjecture about his word choice.

"And to survive, they have to kill." Haymitch again shook his head. "Not everybody can do that." He met her eyes and squinted as he studied her. "And is that really a bad thing?"

He was waiting for her answer, and Effie knew he'd be gauging it. "Winning is possible," she repeated. "You won once."

Haymitch was scowling in her direction. "I got lucky. Nothing more."

She sighed deeply. "Can we do anything to manufacture a little more luck? That's what I'm asking."

"I can't promise them anything," he said regretfully. "Not in the arena and not out of it." Effie knew he was thinking about the girl he'd try to save by sending her matches. His gift had conversely brought on her death by blade rather than hypothermia. There were no promises they could keep.

They were both quiet a rare moment, lost in thoughts of the children they'd never brought home. "No," she agreed, "We can't make promises. But we can do our best to get them out."

Again there was quiet, as the partners thought. Finally, Haymitch nodded and raised his bottle. "I'll drink to that."


	5. The Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games

The Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games

* * *

Effie Trinket sat aboard the bolting train on her annual trip to District 12. The compartment traveled soundlessly, without a hint that it moved at all, but Effie could almost feel herself pulled farther away from her Capitol home.

She was again traveling a day early to meet with her partner. Last year's Games had been another disappointment. Two children had accompanied them to the Capitol, and they'd returned to their District in lifeless wooden boxes.

This Games had seen her first twelve year old tribute. He was a pale, blonde boy, and she'd never seen him smile. Not in the interviews, not on the train, and certainly not in the Games. He'd had no reason for happiness.

It was a new sort of shock to climb the steps to the stage, read off a tribute's name, and watch so young a child part the crowd, face riven with despair and hopelessness. Effie had glued on a smile of encouragement and hadn't let it slip until he was dead.

The observing crowd had groaned at a twelve year old being chosen, but none stepped forward to take his place. They'd watched his first steps toward his death in silence.

It had never been so difficult to maintain her good cheer. Effie understood how the Games were won, and the odds were not in this child's favor. Haymitch, too, was noticeably subdued by their young charge. His tone was softer, his words kinder. Effie would have liked to believe this change was brought on by her coaching and suggestion, but she imagined it had more to do with his duty to help this child.

In the end though, their efforts were in vain. The boy would never make it. Neither Haymitch's truth nor Effie's encouragement could instill the smallest hope in him. When the countdown ended, the boy ran. But he was so small and so young, easily overpowered, easily killed.

As she'd watched, Effie had felt tears burn her eyes. She'd quickly dosed them, so that her fellow escorts wouldn't see. It wasn't their job to mourn these children.

Their female tribute had been a girl from the Seam. She was hardy and beautiful, quick and clever. It was little wonder the boy had felt so hopeless. Even his counterpart was at a greater advantage than him.

She'd had hope, and there were many across the country who'd shared it. Effie had known from the first interviews that Haymitch would manage to find sponsors for this girl.

And she really did know that he'd done his best. Her partner had spoken to sponsors, tried to convince the public, and he'd been somewhat successful. Truthfully, Effie wasn't sure how he'd done it, running from meeting to meeting, desperately seeking support.

Effie later learned he hadn't slept through the night for two weeks.

The girl fought well, never willfully engaging her foe, but keeping herself alive. She lasted fifteen days in the arena, and her escort had followed her every move, wishing this one child might get home alive.

Finally, she'd been wounded by a mutation, an added level of entertainment designed by the Gamemakers. This particular mutt was a flesh eating bug that bore under the tribute's skin, raising painful welts of infection. The girl had stumbled upon a nest of the creatures and was in serious need of medical attention. A parachute of medicine was the only way she'd live.

But the Games were just getting interesting, and medicine was unrealistically expensive, something Effie knew from watching a lifetime of Hunger Games. She'd hoped against hope that Haymitch would find a way, but no parachute floated down. Their second tribute's end was one of long suffering. The only relief she received was in the cannon's boom.

At first, Effie had been furious with her partner. It was the mentor's responsibility to provide for their tributes. His job was to give them help, and he'd failed. He'd sent no parachute.

It wasn't until she'd found him, poised for a fight, a lecture on her lips, that she'd reconsidered. He sat on the floor of his work room in the training center, propped against a wall, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep rather than liquor. It was then that she began to understand just what he did for those children: everything he was able. It was simply never enough.

This year, she swore, would be different.

The train listed to a gentle stop, and Effie roused herself from her thoughts. She sighed and stood to leave. Passing the mirror, she applied a fresh coat of purple lipstick and stepped off the train.

The platform was deserted, the sky sunny, the entire district smothered in coal dust. District 12 had not improved since her first glimpse of it. Effie tugged on sequined gloves, and began her march to the Victor's Village.

Even after three years of making this hike out to Haymitch's house, Effie found herself panting by the end of it. She could understand the seclusion: Who wanted to live close to District 12's main streets? But the lack of transportation was absurd. She supposed one resident wasn't worth the trouble.

The Victor's square was well groomed by invisible caretakers. The grass was nearly green. Still, the gate was collecting rust and welcomed her into a ghost town. Except no one had ever lived here.

The empty houses were well tended, but still deserted. Haymitch's home was the most lonesome of the lot.

Effie steeled herself with a deep breath and rejected the urge to gag with the smell. She flounced up to his front door and knocked. When she was not immediately gratified with an opened door, Effie let her gaze roam over the square. She knew Haymitch was inside. As far as she knew, he left only rarely and never on the day before the reaping.

The door did open, and Haymitch Abernathy stood in her presence once more. She was no longer surprised to see him in this state. "Good morning!" she bubbled. It was best if she ignored his appearance until it really mattered.

Haymitch snarled at her, clearly inebriated. He rolled his eyes and strutted away. She repeated the gesture and followed him in. As they passed through the hall, Effie caught a glimpse of a darkened living room that she'd never set foot in. She doubted that she'd ever receive a guided tour of his sanctuary.

"Do they pay you extra for this?" Haymitch asked as he pulled up a seat. Effie pulled up short. She hadn't even told him her plan yet. "This day early thing?"

Relived now that she knew what he was referring to, Effie shook her head. "No. But I think this yearly meeting is highly effective."

He was scowling again, though really, it was doubtful he'd stopped. "What is it this time? Disapprove of my shoes? Maybe I should move to the Capitol, so they can torture me year round? I know, you think I should get a wig so we can match this year."

Effie sniffed haughtily. She refused to let his mockery phase her. "Actually, I'm offering to help you."

Haymitch was laughing now, and he wasn't so drunk that she could ignore its sting. "I think I have as much help from you as I can handle, darlin'."

"I know what you do for those tributes," she told him. Haymitch looked at her, letting her know he was listening. As important as appearances and manners were, she was speaking beyond that. Maybe he could tell. "But you can never do enough."

The kitchen was silent. "You think I don't know that?" he asked wearily, all trace of malice lost under the sound of his fatigue. He lifted a half drained bottle from the table and stood gazing out the window. "I've been doing this almost half my life. I can't bring even one of them home."

"Maybe not on your own."

Her partner turned to face her, eyebrow raised disparagingly. "Last I checked it was just me."

Effie took a deep breath. She finally had his attention, but she'd have to choose her words carefully for him to appreciate them. "I've observed these last few years the challenging task of mentoring. Every other district has the advantage of two or more past victors. They can share the burden, delegate the responsibility, and fully devote themselves to the tributes."

He looked unimpressed. It wasn't as though this was information he didn't know. "What exactly do you suggest?" he drawled. "The only way to find another mentor is to bring out a victor."

"I know. I am suggesting that I be the one to help you."

Again it grew quiet. Haymitch studied her, top to bottom, pulling her apart with those gray eyes. He finally spoke, his voice low. "How exactly would you do that?"

The escort continued to speak with great care. "Hear me out, Haymitch." She could hear his growing disapproval of the suggestion. "I can't train a tribute in how to swing an axe or build a fire, but there are other ways to help them.

"The interviews, for example. I understand that you coach them on the content of their interviews. I can assist them with their conduct, something with as much potential to save them." Effie waved a flattering hand to herself and smiled winningly, efforts that were lost on Haymitch.

Her partner used the momentary silence to take a drink from his bottle. Effie resisted the urge to scold him and continued her attempts to persuade him. "As for during the actual Games, I will be able to campaign for public opinion. Of course, only a mentor can _confirm_ sponsors, but I can help you. I can help them."

Haymitch glared at her, not her preferred response. He remained silent, and she was just about to launch into a tangent about how he'd be able to actually rest if the both of them worked, when he spoke. He continued to stare, suspicion coloring his voice. "Why would you do that?"

Effie swallowed her reply. He knew what her offer could help. He wanted to know why she made it. "Because you deserve someone to help you."

And that was the reason, really. The Games were taxing for every mentor, she'd witnessed that to be true. But she saw him as he worked. What's more, she saw him here where no one else could. And there was no one more alone that Haymitch Abernathy.

Perhaps she offered out of her growing desperation for the promotion that had yet to come. Maybe she offered because of the overwhelming truth that children were dying because they couldn't save them. But something about her partner's plight resonated in a part of her that responded.

"I think you're crazy," Haymitch denounced. He drank again, never letting his gray eyes leave her blue ones. "But go ahead. If you want to keep up with me, be my guest."

His agreement startled her. Obviously he knew it would be foolish to refuse. Effie graced him with a glimmer of a smile; this year they might just have a chance.


	6. The Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games

*~* The Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games

The train sped through endless fields of prairie grasses as it made its way to District 12. Effie Trinket glanced out the window only occasionally. There was nothing of interest out here. Her yearly train ride took her past each of Panem's twelve districts, but she never looked closely at any of them. If there came a day for a Victory Tour, Effie would see the best each district had to offer.

 _When_ , Effie corrected herself. When there was a Victory Tour. When there was a victor. Above all, she had to stay positive.

And Effie believed she had reason to be positive. Last year's Games had not brought them a victor, but she felt they'd made progress.

The tributes had been older this year, a sixteen year old girl and an eighteen year old boy. Effie had been silently thankful that she hadn't drawn the name of another twelve year old. They'd been both Seam kids. Effie was learning to tell the distinction, with their dark hair and startling gray eyes.

She'd been hopeful for them, and she'd detected just a note of optimism under Haymitch's surly front. Older tributes stood more of a chance. Seam kids often stood more of a chance because of their difficult youths and the inherent strength they possessed in order to have lived this long. All in all, these tributes had been as prepared as they could be, at least, physically.

Things had changed on the Capitol side of the Games. Effie and Haymitch were working together now. It had been an interesting transition of jobs. As the Official District Escort, Effie's role was complete when the tributes entered the Games. Last year, she had remained in the mentor's world instead of floating back to her normal life. It had been extraordinarily eye opening.

Effie thought she'd understood the job of a mentor. For four years, she'd observed Haymitch in the task. She'd seen the strain on him and the other mentors. She'd been unprepared to do the job herself.

Work for a mentor started immediately after the countdown ended, and the process was begun even before that. Throughout the interviews, scoring, and media parades, Haymitch had identified potential sponsors. He kept a list of possible supporters, and when his tribute needed help, he arranged countless meetings to garner funds.

He watched almost every instant of the Games. Each district had a room in the training center equipped with wall sized screens and constant live footage of their tributes. In the past, as a spectator of the Hunger Games, Effie had watched only the highlights of edited material. In these rooms, the mentors could watch for every detail.

Haymitch could see everything that went on, but the only control he had was over his set of cameras. He could see the gory death of their girl tribute as she was mauled by a vicious mutt of half wolf and half grizzly bear. But he could do nothing but watch.

These rooms made for intense viewings of the Games. Effie spent the majority of the two and a half weeks their tributes were in play inside that room. Haymitch, too, rarely left. Their rooms on the penthouse floor were reserved for them, but Effie was the only one to regularly sleep there. He would rest a few hours at a time on a sofa in the mentor room, with the sound of the Games coloring his dreams.

Haymitch did not easily adjust to his new assistant. It was much like he had warned this day last year. He did not delegate or instruct. He went about his job at a furious pace, keeping time with the numbered beatings of his tributes' hearts. His one concession to help was to allow Effie to 'try and keep up.'

This method had annoyed her to no end, but she'd been nearly as stubborn as he. Effie had learned early on to simply announce what she intended to do, and if his argument was only a little more than token, to do it anyway. She'd volunteered to coach their tributes through an interview, been largely ignored, and then carved out the time to make it happen.

During the Games, she'd copied his list of sponsors and orchestrated opportunities to boast about her tributes' chances. Effie had even managed to prod her partner into a meeting where he could sign off on a deal. She felt enormously proud of her contribution.

She'd also spent hours on end watching the Games in the cramped mentor's room. Haymitch refused to alternate, for the most part. And so much of their time had been shared monitoring their tributes. By the end of two and half weeks, Effie had watched five tributes die at the hands of the children they'd brought.

The first time the boy had killed, the large screen had allowed her to see a single tear run down his cheek. The second and third time even that small display of humanity had disappeared.

The girl was attacked by a mutt as she entered a cave for shelter. Effie had grabbed for the list of sponsors, searching for which name might be willing to pay for the medicine she would undoubtedly need. A hand closing around her arm had stopped her, and Haymitch had met her eyes and wearily shook his head.

The boy was killed in a battle with a District 1 tribute. The two young men were evenly matched, and the struggle would have gone on longer if the District 2 female had not honored her alliance and placed a powerfully thrown dagger into their tribute's back.

They'd not brought a victor home last year. This year though, Effie hoped to see a change.

A faint whistle announced that they had reached District 12. The Official District Escort stood, smoothed her flowering dress, and straightened her wig of topaz hair. It was too loud to be natural, but then, that's what Effie wanted.

She exited the train and glanced around the deserted platform out of habit. No one would be there. The sky was overcast, dulling the sharp edge of the heat, but the clouds had her worried. If it rained, the hike back to the train would be miserably muddy and her hair would likely never recover.

Effie scowled briefly in the direction of the Victor's Village, then began walking. The things she did for this job...

The rain held off, and Effie reached the abandoned Village with hair intact. Everything was just as it had been a year ago, as it had been ten years ago. Effie wondered fleetingly what it would be like here if they gained another victor. She hoped the place could look a little more welcoming with two residents.

Haymitch's door was closed and the windows were drawn. Effie guessed that he was asleep in his kitchen with his knife and his liquor. She rolled her eyes in disgust and wrinkled her nose against the smell she would shortly encounter. Her knock resounded through the empty Village.

It took another knock for the door to open. Effie turned her customary smile to the man inside. Haymitch Abernathy looked as he always did. His long hair was plastered to the side of his face, and he could desperately do with a shave. His clothes were soiled beyond belief and the smell was truly dreadful. She ignored all of this as best she could.

"Surprise, surprise," Haymitch drawled. His voice was hardly slurred, and while he reeked of alcohol, he seemed only mildly inebriated. Effie tried to take this as a good sign.

"Good morning," she replied, ignoring his satire. She followed the District 12 victor into his rank smelling house. Everything was just as it had been last year, with the excepted possibility of more garbage and a stronger smell. Why the man didn't bother with a housekeeper was beyond Effie.

Haymitch turned into the kitchen, just as she knew he would. A decade's worth of empty bottles littered the floor, and Effie was mindful of her expensive shoes. "What have you got to say this year?" Haymitch asked as he sank comfortably into a chair.

Preferring to stand, Effie strode about the kitchen, navigating the messy maze as she went. "I only wanted to say that while we did not bring home a victor, I believe we made great progress last year."

Her partner snorted and folded his arms across his chest. His gaze followed her around the room. "Progress? There's no participation prize in these games, Trinket."

She sent him a scalding glance for his rude address. "I mean to say that our methods are improving. We're learning to give them the best chance possible."

His eyes narrowed, a sure sign that a fight was brewing. "So this is a congratulatory visit?"

Effie plucked the curtain up and away from the window, viewing the Victor's Village from inside its one residence. "We've not succeeded yet, but I have high hopes for this year."

"You think your contribution made that much of a difference?"

She glanced back at him, miffed. "I think the effect was noticeable. The interviews went far more smoothly last year than ever before, and even you have to admit that my efforts with sponsors were helpful."

When he admitted no such thing, Effie continued. "I suppose I hadn't fully realized the difficulties of the mentor's job, but I feel I can learn how to do it adequately."

"You think you can learn it?" Haymitch asked, startling her attention back to him. "You think you can learn what it is to be a mentor? To relate to your starving tribute because you've almost died that way, too? To learn their terror and understand the certainty that they'll never make it home? You think you can learn everything a mentor has to know in order to do the job they do?" He took a drink from the ever present bottle. "Don't try to be a victor, Effie. You're not one."

Surprised by his tirade, she stayed silent a long moment. "No," Effie answered carefully, "I am not a victor, nor do I wish to be one. My expertise lies in other areas, and I will use it to give them whatever help I'm able."

She frowned. "And I daresay I do a better job than any other escort in the field would."

Haymitch actually almost smiled. "You do."

Effie raised a sculpted eyebrow. "That's nearly a compliment coming from you."

The two partners stayed quiet, and the silence was almost companionable. Effie decided it was time to address this year's reforms. "I think we made progress," she reiterated. "And I think we'll make more this year if you acknowledge my assistance."

"I think I just did," Haymitch pointed out.

Silently noting that this might be the longest she'd ever seen him go without a drink, Effie clarified. "I mean during the Games. If you allow me to actually help you then, it will go better for all of us."

He was frowning again. "What do you want now?"

Clamping down on her rising ire, Effie told him. "If we institute a schedule of watching the Games, you might actually manage to get a good night's rest. With the two of working, we can share the task of observing." She looked pointedly at him. "You'll be of more use to everyone with the right amount of sleep."

Haymitch looked ready to spout an argument, but he didn't speak. Maybe he saw the sense in her position. "You'd watch out for them while I slept?" he asked finally. Effie nodded. "And you'd wake me if something important happened?" She nodded again, wondering if she might get her way.

After another moment of intense consideration, he nodded. "Fine. We might be able to work out a schedule."

Effie was suddenly aware that it cost Haymitch something to allow that. The job was, after all, his alone, and he'd done it this way for fourteen years. If he let her help him, he'd have to trust her with his tributes' lives. It surprised her more that he was willing to do that.

"Excellent," Effie approved. "I feel better about our chances already! After all, practice makes perfect!"

She ignored his glare. Effie knew she was right.


End file.
